Birthstone
by shywr1ter
Summary: ML, HyperAU from an S1 orientation. Another birthday, and for now, just Max and Logan. This is the missing year, completing the series.
1. January 17, 2021

_**DISCLAIMER: Again, borrowing from Dark Angel for amusement only; no profits made. My thanks to She-Who-Falls-Down-Hills, for the extra nudge, and to Kyre, for confirming canon, even though this leaves canon behind. **_

_**A/N: With too many irons in the fire already, naturally something else started pulling at my attention. Apologies to those waiting for other stories' chapters; they will arrive, too. And for those of you who think kissing is "gross," well...you may want to cover your eyes... **_

I.

He'd called her for dinner, as he had so many times before...but in his voice, his words, somehow, she knew this was different, and had felt a funny, unsettled anticipation as she waited for the day to crawl by to evening. And when Max came into the familiar penthouse, she knew her feelings had been right. Logan's long dining table had been set at one end for dinner, but not as she'd come to expect–tonight, the place settings were china she'd not seen before, the glasses his fine crystal. Lighted tapers flickered in silver candlesticks, and fresh flowers floated in crystal bowls. Beyond the table, over the shoulder of the man who sat before her, smiling gently, Max saw several gifts wrapped in glittering silver paper...and with them...

"Logan...what _is_ all this?" Max let the sight draw her into the dimmed living room, the tiny flames of twenty one little candles bouncing light and shadow from the top of a lacily decorated cake, making the metallic, silvery paper and shiny red ribbons cast lights of their own. Turning to look back up at him, wondering that he'd forgotten, she shrugged, "I thought you told me to pick a day, so I did–and I told you..."

"I know."

His smile was warm; his eyes wouldn't leave hers. She knew the look, and tipped her head in question, trying to read what he was up to. Whatever it was, it was something big–his preparations, decorations ...gifts, like a birthday... "Logan, what is all this?" She shrugged, giving up, her smile echoing her curiosity. "My 'birthday' was four months ago..."

Without a word, Logan came closer, eyes shining with a look of hope and affection that made Max even more uncertain. Stopping in front of her, he lifted a gleaming, slim leather binder from his lap. When she didn't take it in that first moment, he bobbled it a little. "Go on, " he urged, his voice soft. "Take a look..."

She reached for the folio and kept her eyes on him, suddenly feeling that this was Important, and hesitated, afraid to hope too much. When she saw his eyes flicker with his own anticipation for her reaction, she opened the folio slowly, to find it that it opened to two frames, leather around documents. She read with growing emotion: on one side was an official-looking certificate with a gold seal, one that with dawning understanding she would know was yet another, artful, "Logan Cale-genuine" article, this time, the reasons for it obvious. But the other...

Her breath caught as she recognized the document, even if she'd never seen one exactly like it...the format, the department name...names of the attending doctor, even two nurses were known to her. Below the opening lines, a boxed off section bore the black, lined image of a tiny, perfect footprint, with notation below it spelling, she knew, genetic shorthand for a DNA reference. Under that, on a line noting "date of birth" was the entry, "January 17, 2000."

...and below that...

Her eyes darted up to Logan's in impossible hope, filling with moisture more quickly than she'd have expected, even though she hoped for something like this, so very, very long...Logan had watched as she read, saw as it dawned on her, what she held; saw her stunned reaction and her look back to him in disbelieving gratitude...

"Happy Birthday, Max..."

..and all she could do, throat too thickened to allow speech, was throw her arms around the one person in her life now who could understand what this meant to her, one who knew her deepest, most shameful secrets and would not be shaken from his trust in her...who would move heaven and earth–who did just that–to find this for her...

His arms were gentle and strong around her, all at once; even though she'd always known she could overpower him in a moment she felt again the strength with which he held her and, again, realized that for the very first time in her life, she'd found someone in whom all her trust could be placed, that she could rest in his protection and he would keep her safe, she could let the world go and he would stand guard...

She pulled back a little, still overwhelmed but needing some control...and nearly spilled new tears when she raised her eyes to his and saw such love, there, for her...

She smiled, through the mist still in her eyes; his own settled to see it, and she laughed out her held emotions, sounding a little shaky as she did, but both of them understood... Still with his arms around her she looked back down to the open folio, the tiny footprint drawing her eye again...and the date beneath that... and below it all...

...her bar code...

II.

She'd been quiet through dinner but happy, smiling her delight with the gift, and the deep, unexpected emotions that came with it. He understood and was quiet, too, speaking only occasionally and then, softly, letting her absorb her new self. She had a beginning, now...a time frame, a reference...she had been born; she had a _birthday_...

As the meal wound down, the usually exuberant Max didn't eat more than Logan had, surprising him but not causing worry. He felt himself smile yet again, tender for the woman who sat still processing the information he'd found for her. "You know, Max...there are presents..."

Her eyes darted to his from where they'd been, off, imagining; she smiled again, beautiful in her rebirth, and sounded almost awkward when she nodded, "I know, but...it's almost too much..."

"Nah..." he encouraged, softly. "Girl's gotta have presents. A twenty-first birthday is special, Max...and I was selfish..." his eyes had glanced away, gathering himself, before looking back up. "I know you might have wanted to share this with everyone, with Cindy and the others, you know, a real party. But I wanted it to be here, just us, when you realized..." He trailed, then shrugged. "Would you have rather had the group here? Because we could call..."

"Not this time..." She shook her head, " it's not special because it's my twenty first, but..." the soft brown eyes held him. "It's my _first_..." Thought voiced, it made her eyes swim again and as a tear spilled its way down her cheek, Logan found himself reaching over to brush it away, gently. His fingertips lingered as they traced the soft skin, pulse quickening as Max covered his hand with hers...

"If I had a way, to thank you..."

"Just your expression was enough...I wanted to do this..."

"Not fair..." she whispered. "I'll find a way, Logan; I promise..."

"You're way ahead on that, Max, trust me..." Turning his hand under hers to cup her cheek gently, for the moment, he traced her lip very lightly and nudged, "c'mon...what happened to the feline DNA–no curiosity left?"

"Plenty–just overwhelmed" she admitted with her smile growing again.

"Well then–you go in and shake the packages...see if you can guess. I'll bring the coffee."

"Okay..." But he'd barely moved before she spoke again. "Logan...?" She moved close and, before he could find an excuse to discount her feelings, to protect his, she kissed him sweetly, achingly, full of longing and hope and...

...or was it _his_ feelings on their lips?

Moments passed and, parting, he saw that his genetically engineered warrior blushed like the brand-new twenty-one year old she was...

..and so it fell to him to lift her hands to his lips, brush them softly, and raised them so she would stand, too. "I'll be right there..."

III.

As he'd hoped, by the time Logan came in with a carafe of coffee and mugs, Max had knelt at the low table and was carefully lifting and shaking each small package. She took the tray he lifted off his lap and set it on the table next to the display, and poured him a mug. As she handed it to him she asked, "is there a special order I should follow?"

"Mmm. Well..." Logan leaned over to consider the several packages, then pulled out the smallest to set it aside. "This one should be last..." At her hum of interest at that, Logan chuckled. "The others..." he shrugged. "No real order."

And so lifting each, opening carefully, Max found touching, funny, lighthearted memorabilia of her newly-discovered birthdate–a tiny stuffed kitten with a tag that said "January," and a stocking cap, and scarf around its neck, a delicate porcelain carnation in a little box that explained it as January's flower, a coffee mug emblazoned with "Capricorn" in which he'd tucked a small book that would tell her all she needed to know about herself, based on her astrological sign...

They laughed; Max vowed to read her horoscope every day and he went back to the table to bring her one of the flowers from the table that she now realized were carnations, both large and small...and they both let their eyes fall on the one remaining package. "Go ahead" he urged, softly. With no more urging needed, Max pulled away the wrapping on the last, small package and moved to lift the lid. And Max saw, winking up at her, a deep red gem in a delicate gold setting, simple and elegant, allowing the facets to do their work and steal her breath away...

He had been watching closely, nervously now. Too much? Not her? She didn't wear jewelry, really: no desire...or no opportunity? He waited...

"Ohhh...Logan..." she began, lifting the necklace out of the box. "It's beautiful..." she breathed again, finally.

"...it's a garnet. January's birthstone. I thought you ought to have something; I wasn't sure what you'd want..."

His tone was soft and hesitant suddenly; a retreat, apologetic. Max looked up to his face in question, closely now, began to see past what this all meant to her, to what it had cost him, to dare this. Heart melting, she felt herself being born over and over on this day: this day, her birthday, a real one...for a real human woman... A woman who was born into the knowledge of what in her life, after all, was good and true...

She stood, the tears yet again threatening to take her over. Knowing now most assuredly what she wanted, she stepped over to the man waiting for her absolution, and pushed herself into his lap, curling into his arms. "This," she managed, with a shiver. "This is what I want..."

IV.

Max looked over at the tousled head, the sculpted chest, the graceful hands, and felt herself smile. Cyberjournalist? Playboy? Unflinching crusader? Hopelessly cynical optimist, or hopelessly optimistic cynic... all of it faded into the background. He was Logan Cale, the man she'd known all along and the man who opened her eyes tonight...

...the gift he'd given her, the gift of humanity, the gift that made her more a human child and less a scientific experiment, had moved the universe: from this day on, she saw with new eyes–appreciative, humbled...human. And her eyes were for his, only...

_...the beginning..._


	2. January 17, 2024

_**DISCLAIMER: Dark Angel borrowed, no profits realized. **_

_**A/N: An AU in full S2 denial, this universe extends the S1 world as it was before AJBAC several years past that time. This is another installment in a story originally intended as a one-shot. And as it's non-canon hypermoosh, it's dedicated to all M/L mega-shippers. **_

**_SPOILER: This installment is actually a sequel to another story as well, "_the Interview_" and as such is a spoiler for it. Therefore, if you haven't already read _the Interview_ and think you might like to someday, it would be best to read it before going on with this one._**

**January 17, 2024**

Dinner had been remarkable, and the chef had outdone himself: they had trout almondine, steamed baby asparagus, and strained carrots. They had a crisp pinot gris in Irish crystal and apple juice in a sippy cup.

After a long, quiet talk at the table, candles burning lower and their companion showing signs of flagging, it was Max at the sink, clearing away the table and tidying up the kitchen; it was she who pulled out the tray to set out the carafe and coffee cups as she listened to the sounds from the other room, faint enough that only ears as sensitive as hers would hear them: sounds of baby coos and Logan's rich voice talking back ...

"Da!"

Max smiled ... she could imagine the speaker's face, that innocent, filled-with-delight look as she beamed her pronouncement...

"Dadada..."

She smiled wider at the pleased chuckle it elicited, along with a responding, muffled "Dadada" from Logan, spoken, Max knew, around a pudgy hand caught in his gently nibbling lips as he took his turn at the fatherly duties of wiping down sticky face and hands, of changing diaper and of pulling on sweet-smelling pjs, of cuddling the sleepy baby toward slumber and speaking soothingly and softly, finally lifting her back tenderly to tuck his newest angel into her bed...

Max came into the dimmed room to find the scene just as she imagined, her little girl lying quietly in her bed, a blanket pulled up over her tummy and her favorite stuffed kitty in her arm. Logan glanced over toward Max, and held out his arm for her to come near, to join them. She came into the offered embrace and looked into the crib, feeling her own smile widen.

"Hey, little girl," Max greeted the child, and received a sleepy beam in return. She leaned over the bed, safety netting still lowered on their side, to leave a soft kiss on their daughter's forehead. "Sweet dreams..." Straightening, leaning into Logan warmly, she leaned over to nuzzle his hair, and murmured, "and you, Papa? Going to come see me about some of my own dreams?"

Logan tipped his head back, offering his mouth where she had nuzzled his hair, and their lips met for a long, sweet kiss... As they pulled away, Logan smiled softly, "Equal time for both my girls? Lucky for me that you're both so easy to please..." He let his hand curl up from her waist, to caress her back. "You go ahead and get comfortable. I'll tuck in our little angel, here, and be right out." He trailed his hand back down to her waist, adding, "You have another package that needs attending. "

"No; Logan..." She protested, touched by his generosity and touched again by the gift she'd already received. "You already did too much..."

"Nah...look at the present you gave me..." he tipped his chin toward the round little form in her pink footie pyjamas. "How can I compete?"

With another buzz to his crown, Max teased, "now who'd have thought that the great and powerful Eyes Only was such a pushover?" She bent over the crib for one last gentle brush of her lips along the baby's brow and murmured words of goodnight, then slipped from Logan's arm and quietly left the room. With a contented sigh, the doting father turned back to look at the beautiful little girl, the impossible made real, his own green eyes in Max's features, her creamy skin a blend of her parents'...

"Sleep tight, baby..." Logan said softly, leaning in for his own goodnight kiss before raising the side bumper to safely enclose her for the evening. "Hey, wish me luck, alright? I'm gonna give your mama her other birthday present now – from both of us – so let's hope I did well..."

With a final gaze to the already-sleeping child, Logan turned to leave her and moved out of the room, pulling the door most of the way closed behind him. He started down the hall toward the living room, but came only a short way before stopping, with a grin, to lean down and pick up the small toy wagon lying along the way, another little stuffed animal as its cargo. From cool bachelor digs when he first got the place, he mused, to lonely Eyes Only lair ... to family home complete with a few strewn toys and safety covers on electrical outlets... 'crib to crib,' literally. He never imagined that this little domestic life would be the place where, finally, he felt settled and balanced, as if there was hope in the world...

He grabbed the little wagon, bunny and all, and sat back up, his eyes catching, as he straightened, Max's lithe form suddenly there at the edge of the living room, winsomely holding her own stuffed bear. Seeing her there, leaning against the doorway in soft, drawstring pants and warm pullover, the delicate gold and garnet necklace, his first 'birthday' gift to her, twinkling at her neck, he wondered if she had ever looked more beautiful...

At the look in his eyes, Max's smile pulled a little higher and, pushing off the doorway to amble over to him, she tried, "Have you noticed that we have quite a menagerie around here? More animals than the Seattle zoo ever had..." She reached out as she neared, taking the hand he offered.

"I love you..." He said, helpless in her beauty and her smile, just for him...

She laughed a little, teasing, "Footie pyjamas and baby powder always make you so romantic..." Her smile was dazzling as she came close to sit in his lap, right there in the hall. "And that makes me love you even more..." She nuzzled his ear as they both let their stuffed animals fall back along the hallway floor.

His arms pulled her close. "Happy birthday, Max..." He felt her relax against him, letting him believe, at that moment, that the dream he was living really _was_ real. "Look, if you'd like to go out – anywhere, to Crash, or to the Pier, whatever you'd like to do, Tracie is standing by, already paid up til midnight, with overtime available..." Sandra's niece, a winning fifteen year old as reliable and good with kids as her teacher-aunt, had been there a few times before to babysit, and Logan knew Max trusted her as much as he did, allowing them an occasional evening away. "So you can decide however you'd like to spend the rest of your birthday. You say the word, if you'd like to get out for a while; if not, we'll settle in here..."

She pulled back a little to look into his sparkling eyes. "Even if I'd wanted to go out before...how could I want anything but time alone with the guy who would come up with such a plan?" She wondered if she ever could return even a part of the generosity of spirit he'd shown her, these past years. "I can't imagine anything better than to stay right here, all evening." As if to make her point, she burrowed in closer, a deep breath nuzzled close bringing her the scents of his soap and shampoo and the fine sprinkling of baby powder still clinging to his sweater...

"But the coffee's in the living room, isn't it?" he quipped weakly, lost in the feel of her. "Much more comfortable surroundings than here in the hall..."

"This is just fine, thank you..." She grinned, happily ... but in a moment sat up again to look at him, grin softening to say, sincerely, "and ... thank you for the new bike, Logan. It really _is_ too much..."

"You never really got over letting Zack take yours..."

"But he needed it and ... well, at the time, I didn't need to be zipping around town, bumping over potholes and torn up pavement ... I had a couple more months to be pregnant, after all..."

"I know how you felt about that bike – and about riding. And about Zack. It was just ... it was a very generous act, and ... well, is it patronizing to say how proud I was of you, to give it away so readily? Something that meant so much to you..."

She smiled softly as she looked into his eyes. "Things change ... the things that were so important before might not be so high on the list now. I love the ride, I crave the speed ... but I used to _need_ to know I had a fast escape. I used to live every day thinking I might have to run away in the next moment..."

"'Used to...'" he repeated, hope lifting. "Not now?" He knew the answer, he really did, but ... to hear her say it, to recognize it, too...

"No way," she kissed his nose, playfully. "Now – it's just for fun."

His smile grew again, "How did it ride? _Was_ it fun?"

"Oh, Logan, it's so sweet," her eyes sought his understanding, hoping he knew how much it still meant. "Maybe even sweeter than my old one, if _that's_ possible." Her grin widened, "but I'm not sure if it's the machine – or the fact that it was from you." She wavered only a moment, and admitted, "When I gave my other one to Zack, part of me was thinking that it might not be right to keep it anyway, once I became a mother."

"Why not, if it still makes you happy?" He leaned in to return the kiss, nibbling her nose. "You make the two of us pretty happy, you know. So...it's your turn."

"Hey," her brow furrowed, "you know that if all I had in this world was the two of you, I'd still be richer than any Cale I've ever known..." She watched the look in his eyes deepen, and she urged, "You _do_ know that, don't you?"

"...and you know some pretty wealthy Cales..." He acknowledged, slowly.

"Damn straight" she whispered. "I love you, Logan..."

He pulled her close, long fingers twining into her hair, kissing her hungrily for several moments before breaking off, regretfully. Dropping his hands to his wheel rims, Logan began moving them both down the hall in to the living room, where coffee and the chocolate-raspberry torte he'd made as a birthday cake for her awaited them. "We have some more birthday to address..."

Crawling off his lap regretfully, Max came around to kneel by the low table and pour their coffee. "Just a few years ago, you'd never have been able to get all that chocolate _and_ raspberries at the same time – you'd've had to wait for the chocolate, then hoard it til the raspberries appeared, whenever that might be."

Slicing into the decadently rich dessert, he chuckled, "And just a few years ago, you wouldn't have known that – since you weren't much into cooking, at the time..." He glanced up to see her smirk, and nodded toward the table, "there's another present there, for you ... it's ... from the both of us."

Max smiled slowly, and as she reached for the small box, in gleaming white paper and a soft blue ribbon, said, "Logan, you really do too much, you know; it's just a birthday..."

"The way I figure it, you're still catching up – you went too long without knowing exactly when it was. Now, since you know..."

"...thanks to you..."

He smiled, self-consciously even now, and went on, "...you need to have some serious celebration. Besides ... it's not much."

"But on top of a bike – that in itself was pretty 'much.'" Max looked at the package in her hand.

"Go ahead. But..." Logan suddenly stopped, and shrugged, "this year it's a little different..."

Max looked at the hopeful face, seeing his uncertainty, and pulled away the ribbon. Each year since discovering her actual birth date, Logan had given her a lovely, private birthday evening, each unique and special. He'd also given her a special gift with her birthstone, a deep, red, garnet, as a marker of her newly found identity. How different, then, she wondered...

Pulling away the paper, Max opened the jeweler's box to find a silver bracelet sparkling up at her. With a soft hum of appreciation, she lifted the bracelet to see the dangling, single charm there, a pair of stylized wings around a shimmering gemstone – but of sea-blue, pale and sparkling. "Logan, it's beautiful..."

She looked up to the eyes that still excited her, the ones now looking carefully to see if she understood. "Not a garnet, this year ... but an aquamarine..." Logan began, feeling his cheeks warm a little as he wondered if she would finally despair of his sentimentality. "It's the birthstone for March..." As her eyes lit with understanding and her smile broadened, he explained in a rush, "I'd wanted to get it for you last year, when you were still pregnant, but ... not knowing how everything would turn out, since we still weren't sure if ... if she'd be as perfect as she is..."

Max felt her eyes prickle as her vision swam for the briefest moment. Getting up to come push her way back into his lap, she let Logan's strong arms surround her, reminding herself again what a miracle it all was, that she'd found such a man, that he loved her, that they could together make the most beautiful little girl the world had ever seen, her daddy's angel...

...suddenly she pulled back to look at the wings wrapped around the stone, understanding, and said simply, "angel wings..."

He nodded. "For _our_ angel." He looked at her closely for several moments, and face falling only a tiny bit, asked "or is that too sappy?"

"_Way_ too sappy," she whispered, "and I wouldn't have it any other way..."


	3. January 17, 2023

_**DISCLAIMER: Dark Angel borrowed, no profits realized. **_

_**A/N: ** **Warning: extreme hyper-moosh! **This is another installment in an AU one-shot that didn't know when to quit. The other stories are in production, too, but for a variety of reasons I was in the mood for some hyper-moosh, and decided to finish off an installment started long ago. There is a theme to these chapters, however, and if you haven't read the first chapter, reading it would help this one make a little more sense._

_Thanks for reading; any and all reviews, comments, and opinions welcomed, as always. _

**January 17, 2023**

It was dim in the Penthouse for 4:00 in the afternoon, heavy grey clouds hanging over the city like a thick, down comforter, lighter grey wisps skittering quickly across the deeper grey above them. The sound of the rain was soft, however, as was the gentle roll of winter thunder Logan heard in the distance, rumbling long and low under the soothing piano of a Satie _Gymnopédie _playing from the speakers across the room. He glanced up from the file balanced on the arm of his couch and watched the rain trace down along the window for a moment, the soft patter and darkened sky leaving him with a comforted, cocooned feeling, and he turned back to the sight that had pulled him away from his more haunted window brooding some time ago.

_Max._

She lay curled up beside him on the couch, her head in his lap, as he'd read through a file, idly stroking her hair. Her breathing had slowed, and her muscles softened, as she relaxed into his touch.

His gaze lingered on her soft, burnished skin, the gentle contours of her cheek, her lips, slightly parted as she napped, before he took in the rest of her, in still-dazed awe of finding himself and Max at this moment, in this life. _The street-wise, immovable Max had collided with the stubborn, self-righteous Eyes Only and look what happened,_ he marveled for the hundredth time, now, as always with a catch in his chest, as his eyes traveled along the graceful form curled up along the couch, her silhouette now rounding dramatically with the growing child she carried. _Our child,_ Logan reminded himself yet again, the idea, even still, so moving and new. _Our child_ ...

Logan hadn't ever imagined himself as a father; first, because he was young and knew he had his life stretching many years ahead of him; then, because his lifestyle and his mission as Eyes Only had made it out of the question; and then, _after,_ because it just wasn't all that easy for the shell-shocked sperm of a SCI patient to soldier on, the way they might have before...

_Guess those statisticians hadn't figured in the effect of feline DNA and the cat-like response of the female in estrus to ovulate at the time of the Act, _he found himself smiling wryly. What better proof that Max and he were fated to be together, than to find that a sluggish Cale wriggler was gobbled up with such enthusiastic glee by Max's waiting, voracious ovum?

His smile faded slightly as his little joke passed, thoughts sobering again, and he considered what a ride it had been so far. Not knowing if Max's concocted DNA make-up and his mundane, civilian DNA would fit together safely, if something would go terribly wrong, or something in between, they'd been afraid to be too happy, to share the news before it became so obvious they didn't have to say it ... to have too much hope. Those first weeks, he fought to hide the fear he felt, for Max – would pregnancy make the seizures more severe? Was something written into her, designed as she was to be a soldier, to end the pregnancy before it went too far? Would they even recognize if the pregnancy was harming Max in some unusual way that they wouldn't catch until it was too late? How would they safely monitor her though a process that ought to be overseen by a doctor, but that might reveal that she wasn't just any old mother-to-be?

At least that part had been easy, he reflected, and seemed to go remarkably well. Although Sam Carr wasn't an obstetrician, he served as her primary physician in it all, with the excuses that he was a trusted friend, and she had a history of seizure disorder, and what with the hormonal changes brought by pregnancy, they wanted to take no chances. As far as the pregnancy itself, a midwife was Max's chief care-giver, working well and closely with Sam, and she could monitor all the signs such as weight gain and signs of a healthy expectant mother; Bling was nearby as always and helped the midwife with the parents' training in pre-delivery exercise and birthing, keeping his own tabs on Max's health as well. Max's vital signs were generally those of any vibrant, fit human being, in perfect running order, and the midwife ultimately had no reason to suspect anything more than having a patient who was a blessedly healthy expectant mother. She'd have no opportunity to do the sort of tests which might reveal just how special the patient was. The midwife and Bling, then, kept an eye on Max's pregnancy and kept Sam informed, who could steer her to a specialist should it come to that.

Which, to the continuing relief of the expectant father, it had not. Max was just as healthy as ever and felt fine, not bothered by any sign of morning sickness, her robust appetite still strong. She had started sleeping everyday, though, even a full night's sleep most nights during her first three months, and a good number of her nights thereafter. It was a sign that didn't really bother Sam all that much after confirming with an obstetrician on the hospital staff, and seemed to be Max's version of 'normal.' After several weeks of it, with all the other signs so positive, even Logan began to accept her sleeping as a good thing, and he delighted in the simple pleasure of falling asleep with Max in his arms, and finding her still there, nestled in close to him, when he awoke...

His gaze traveled upward again to the long, dark lashes, the flawless, soft skin ... _so it's true what they say about expectant mothers,_ he reflected idly, looking down at her lovely features, at rare repose and peace. _They really __**do**__ glow..._

He was too much of a pessimist to believe it could all be so easy or remain crisis free, too long in the underground, too long a Cale to trust that there could be happy endings, for him. But here she was, curled up in his lap, smiling a Mona Lisa smile of such normalcy and contentment he started to believe it might actually be true.

"Are you obsessing again?" The smooth countenance was suddenly crossed with a wry grin.

_Caught. Again._ He smiled for her. "Just waiting for the other shoe," he admitted.

"Sometimes..." She opened her eyes and looked up, raising her hand to trace it lazily out along his arm to lace her fingers through his. "...there _is_ no other shoe."

He wished that she could really meant it, that she was as unworried as she sounded, but he knew different. Manticore had embedded too many surprises in her to ignore, and each new discovery tore at her with reminder of their control over her, even so long after her escape. It was undeniable that the designers who engineered them all in order to create a new race of soldiers would be sorely tempted to fiddle with her reproductive system as well. All the expectant parents could do was just wait to see if Manticore had figured out how to manipulate the next generation – or their beginnings – as well.

So far, there was no sign of it. Selfishly, for Max's sake, Logan dared to hope that the focus for X-5 was on that generation alone, and that any thought that they had for creating a series to be self-sustaining was saved for the later series they knew had been developed. Max's strength, robust constitution and remarkable healing abilities were well suited to pregnancy and it barely slowed her down, other than her more frequent craving for sleep and, on occasion, certain foods seemingly keyed to the baby's development. _Maybe that's all they planned for them, _Logan hoped, _super moms breezing through their pregnancies. _She felt good and had even been seizure-free though-out, the extra tryptophan Sam suggested probably helped by the extra sleep she was getting.

But it wouldn't be much longer now, and he vowed he would hide any remaining fears he had for her from now on as well as she had from him. He smiled for her and let his free hand trace gently across her rounded tummy. "Maybe. However, the shoe you _do_ have is coming along in fine fashion, here. Hard to miss."

"Your fault," she grinned smugly.

"Well, then, I suppose I'd better attend to you both," he mused. "Hungry yet?"

"'Yet?'" she repeated. "Don't you mean 'still?'" At his smirk, she shrugged, "I suppose I could wait 'til dinner if I _had_ to..."

"Speaking of dinner..." he let his fingers trace lazy circles on her tummy, a caress which they had discovered soothed not only Max but a sometimes active baby within her. "Did you decide if you'd like to go out somewhere for your birthday dinner? Pretty soon, it won't be so easy to just head out when we want for an elegant evening on the town."

She sighed, conceding, "I know. But really, if I get to choose, I'd rather it be just us, here ... if you feel like cooking."

"Always," he smiled for her, warmed by her words. "A command performance for an appreciative audience? Better than going out in the rain by a mile."

"Which one of us has the feline DNA?" she asked, pushing up to a near-sitting position, leaning cozily into his side as he drew his arm around her. "You sure you don't mind?"

"That you want me all to yourself? I'll deal," he grinned, rakishly.

She rolled her eyes. "You have something to cook?" she asked, still sounding a little sleepy.

"Always prepared," he smiled, a sudden tenderness filling him at her choice to stay in. He brought his arm around her just a little closer. "In case you decided you wanted a home-cooked meal, I got a few things."

"I knew I could count on you," she purred.

The sound of it emboldened him, let him start to believe that she might be right about that 'shoe' thing, let him believe that his gift for her this year might not be just asking for bad luck, as he'd feared. _Why not start believing in the luck of the Irish, Cale, instead of just bad luck? If you're going for the metaphysical, why not go for the good stuff?_ "Hey," he tried, softly, watching her as he spoke. "When do you want your present?"

"'bout time," she grumped, comically. "I was wondering if you forgot."

"Yeah, I 'forgot' – that's why the baby's room has been off limits since yesterday?"

"Well, maybe you forgot about whatever your 'off-limits' dealio is all about." There was no change in her voice or expression, but she opened her eyes as she spoke, looking into his, and he saw that look that never quite went away where the baby was concerned, a look of wary, vulnerable hope, of waiting ... of steeling herself for whatever might lie ahead...

And seeing his own doubts reflected in hers, Logan knew that more important than anything now was that he stay strong for her and let her know that he could trust in their luck this time, that the luck of the Cales, while imperfect and dysfunctional, had actually brought him far more _good_ luck and good fortune than bad, considering what messes he'd gotten himself in over the years. "You'd never let me get by with that." His smile to her now was warm and centered, relaxed. "We can go look any time you like."

She searched his face, looking for what had suddenly occurred to make it time for her present. She smiled, tentatively to ask, "I could have had it, all along?"

He shrugged, amused. "Yeah. I was just waiting for you to ask."

She smirked. "For an underground hero, you're not all that good a liar." He was pleased to see that her own expression seemed to clear, and her eyes twinkled in pleased anticipation. "Let's go see _now._"

Max unfolded from the couch and stood aside as Logan shifted smoothly from the couch to his chair to follow her. They had begun preparing the nursery in cautious steps, and now that they were only six weeks away, they had outfitted the room in elegant but noncommittal fashion, finding a crib, dresser and changing table in a red cherry hardwood that blended perfected with the outer wall. But they had done nothing else with the room nor added the things the baby would need, staying away from the room for the most part, keeping the door closed for now. Oh, they'd gotten a couple sets of linens and receiving blankets, but in a plain, unpatterned white, telling themselves they would wait until the baby was born to decide the colors and prints for the room. At one time or another, each had seen the sadness in this and had hoped the other did not, keeping it to themselves. Neither found any other way they could prepare any more than this and not be devastated, should things go wrong.

_... the other shoe, even with this,_ Logan reflected. But as they neared the nursery door, Logan knew that his decision to push ahead, just a little, was what they needed now, more than ever...

"Go on," he urged, as she looked at him in question, but as she reached to slide the door aside, he spoke again suddenly and reached for her hand, to stop her. As she looked back, a question there, he gently pulled her toward him and lifted his face for a kiss. After a long, sweet moment, he pulled back to nod her inside. "Happy Birthday, Max..."

She smiled back toward him, then turned again to roll the door aside. Looking in, her eyes widened, then misted slightly in emotion. "Logan..." she whispered, finally turning to look at him. "It's ... perfect."

"Go on," he urged. "Try it out."

She nodded and moved inside, Logan following, toward the graceful wooden rocking chair, its gleaming red wood a match for the other cherry pieces around them, a fluttery white bow tied on in celebration. She lifted another two packages from the seat, one large with softened rectangular edges, one small and crisp. Both were wrapped in white paper and festooned with red ribbons. "Logan," she whispered again, shrugging in her emotional response.

He nodded again toward the chair, both relieved and gratified that she seemed pleased with it, too. "Does it fit?" he teased, softly.

She smiled and sat slowly, settling back into its curved frame, and a new smile of delight crossed her face. "It's perfect," she beamed. She reached out and ordered, "come here." He crossed the remaining couple feet to come up beside her, taking her extended hand and meeting her waiting lips as she leaned toward him for another kiss. "It's going to get a lot of use," she vowed.

"I know it will." He pulled back a little and saw that her words, no matter how hard she tried, were tinged with the hint of question and fear, and he raised his hand to her cheek and dared to voice what had been with them, for all these weeks. "Max – it _will_." he promised her. "We've come this far, and you and the baby are fine. We're going to be a family in about six weeks – and every day when I get back from the market, or come up for air from some investigation – I'll come looking for you, and I'll find you right here, in this chair, with our baby sleeping in your arms." He looked deep into her eyes as he spoke steadily, ready now to believe, for her sake, as if his belief would pull them through by the sheer force of his willpower. "Bet me," he added, smiling confidently.

"You mean it," she observed. It wasn't a question; she saw that he believed what he said. "What happened?"

"Just realized this _is_ going to happen," he smiled. "No other shoe. Go on, if you don't believe me," he nodded to the other packages, and said,"try the big one."

Her uncertain smile creaked up further in stages, and her eyes lightened with his words. "I love you," she said, softly, achingly.

"I love you, Max – you and the little shoe in your belly," he urged warmly.

Her eyes sought his face for any sign of doubt and, seeing none now, Max straightened a little more, her smile settling into a more comfortable, trusting one, and she leaned over to lift the larger package. "What's in here?"

"Better look..." he said, hoping this too would be right. As the papers fell away, Logan watched Max's face widen into a dazzling smile, and her eyes now filled to spill over.

"Look at this..." she said in soft delight, first lifting the soft, airy baby blanket to her, hand-knit and pure white, cheerily trimmed and decorated in red, its attitude suddenly brightening up the somber room. "It's beautiful ... and ..." she lifted the little shirt and hat, the baby booties – the first they had – in fire engine red, with bits of white trim, and as another tear fell, her laugh hiccupped, "Look at these, Logan, they're..." She laughed. "They're _red."_

"For your birthday. January – garnet," he grinned. "In case you'd forgotten."

"How could I, after the last two?" She laughed again, and looking back at the tiny clothes, so bright and colorful in the room where they'd been so afraid to have such faith, and held them close. "I love them."

"But they're not really for you to wear ..." Logan managed to keep his voice steady, despite seeing Max's happiness finally emerging, and watched as she held up the tiny hat, examined the booties. _I'm sorry you've been cheated out of the joy you should be feeling in all this,_ he told her silently. "One more present, Max," he said managed, his voice soft but even. He wouldn't let Max's tears cause his to fall. "The little box."

She smiled back at him and turned to lift the smaller package, pulling the paper away to find a jeweler's box inside. With both hands she opened the hinged leather box, and her breath caught. She looked back up at the green eyes watching her closely, waiting to see if she liked them. "They're perfect..."

She lifted the earrings from the box, each one a tiny cluster of delicate garnets in a cut and pattern that matched the single, flawless gem at her neck, her present from Logan two years ago for her very first _real_ birthday. "They're alright?" Logan asked.

"Way past 'alright.' _Everything_ is way past alright, Logan – thank you..." She admired the earrings for another moment before moving to put them on. "I'll wear them to dinner," she grinned. Once on, she asked "how do they look?"

"Beautiful," he grinned, stealing another kiss. As he pulled back, his smile softened a little and he added, "_you're_ beautiful ... Happy Birthday, Max."

This time their kiss was long and emotional – each knew there were no guarantees, but a new trust had been born, a new faith, that things just might work out as well as everything else had this far, and that they might end up with a normal little life – at least, their version of 'normalcy.'

They finally pulled apart and Logan said, "I promised you dinner. Maybe I should get it started.."

Max nodded, "okay." As Logan began to pivot toward the door, she spoke again. "Hey –" he turned back to look at her, in question, and she said, "I think I'll just stay here a while, while you cook ... okay?"

It took all of Logan's strength not to let her see the effect her words had on his resolve. "Okay," he smiled. "Dinner should be ready in about an hour."

"Good," she smiled, settling back in the rocker.

"Yell if you need anything."

"I will." Again he turned to go and again she stopped him. "Logan?" Again he turned, waiting.

"Did I forget to tell you ... you know. That I love you?"

He chuckled, glad to have the emotional release, and said, "Maybe you'd better tell me again, just to make sure."

She nodded. "I love you. _Red,_" she then laughed again, shaking her head, and lifting the blanket and baby things into her lap. He shrugged, and in a moment, still not speaking, turned to leave the room.

Max sighed and leaned back in the chair, stroking the soft blanket admiringly before daring to lift the tiny, bright booties, feeling her eyes well up again. _We're having a baby ... and we'll all be just fine..._

...and after another moment, gazing long over the little red outfit and on across the room, Max slowly... and emotionally ... started to rock, ever so gently, in the chair...


End file.
